No More NZed

Tuesday 12:30PM. Melbourne, Australia.

Anyone else devastated that I haven’t posted in weeks. The guilt is overwhelming. But then I remember where I am and where I’ve been and I’m all better.

Where did we leave off?

I was stranded in Wellington for quite some time because when the hurricane was done there was a cyclone, and when the cyclone was done it was Easter, and when Easter was done I got pregnant.

Ha. Gotcha.

In reality, writing comes from loneliness, and I wasn’t lonely living in the van. Marguerite, we named her. When we had to give her back in Christchurch, my french companion had to hold me in the middle of the street while I cried. I’m a nostalgic gal.

Now I’m living the dream in Australia, staying with a friend who has a television with Netflix. And I don’t even feel bad doing nothing and binging on TV and writing all day when she’s at work because I haven’t done that in three months. Hello loneliness.

But I’m sitting here in my free bungy jumping t-shirt to remind me that I’m still cool. Bungy? Bungee? Bungie? I don’t know. My t-shirt says bungy, so that’s what I’m going with even though there’s a red squiggly line under it. Oddly, bungy jumping caused me more anxiety than jumping out of a plane. I think it’s because you have to jump to your death on your own will instead of the professional strapped to your back doing it for you. I may look confident in the video, but you can’t see the shaking and the tears in my eyes. It’s way more fun than sky diving too. And cheaper.

Speaking of, I’m poor. Thankfully, most of my Australian expenses have been paid for thanks to a travel agent in Rotorua who batted his eyelashes and convinced me that I should book five weeks of Aussie fun. So I’m going to keep watching Will and Grace until I have to be a productive traveller again.

A Love Letter to Wifi

Tuesday, 1:50 PM. Wellington, New Zealand.

I begin this letter not to glorify the Facebook, the Instagram, or the texting; But to glorify the GOOGLE. How I love to be able to google a person, place, or thing. Google Maps! How I yearn for your ready availability! Your whorish ways of opening up and letting me into the depths of your streets. It’s intoxicating and I miss it so. The pent up frustration I feel when I stare at your graphic, unloaded screen... lost in the mountains of Kiwiland. It’s almost as unbearable as when I automatically go to type in “gas sta--.” Do you miss me as I you? The touch of my thumbs on your screen? I suppose not. Because like I said, there are billions of people for you to pleasure. Where there is one less me in New Zealand, there is a kid receiving his first phone in Tokyo. 

That was weird.

Much has happened. Or a lot of ground has been covered. It’s hard to remember what though seeing as I only just found out what day it is. I sit in the Wellington Public Library, feasting on their free wifi and recharging my brain waves on current events. So I hear their was a hurricane and Trump pissed people off again?

I’ve been napping on beaches, sitting at the edges of cliffs, and hanging out with seals. And I’ve done the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, just to prove to myself that I am in fact an inner fat ass. It’s 19.4 kilometers (about 12 miles for my challenged American friends) and just about the hardest physical activity I’ve ever had to do. But I sure did feel like an amazon viking at the top.

Me and my french companion will probably head to the South Island in a day or two, because time is a flyin’ and there’s much exploring to do. I will potentially be getting a phone here and for Australia so it’s easier to let you all know that I’m alive. The anxiety of the narrow, winding, edge of cliff roads will more likely be the death of me than if I were to accidentally drive off one.

Speaking of, check out my sexy van/home:

Miss you all!

Ha, just kidding. You miss me.

Happy April Fools, I'm in the Future

Saturday, 2:04 PM. Rotorua, New Zealand.

The bugs attacked me so severely in Taupo that I am now on antibiotics because the seven bites on my right hand got infected and started tracking up my arm. Yay. But that wasn’t the worst part. When I was at the doctor, so was every kiwi child in New Zealand. And not even the incredibly handsome doctor who helped me and laughed at all my jokes could save me from that cerebral aneurysm inducing pain. And as if I needed more proof that they sense my hatred for them and seek me out, six whiney tikes just entered the lobby of this hostel.

The meds make me sleepy and I now bathe in chemicals to keep the fuckers away, the bugs not the kids, but all is well I guess. I feel like a lame traveller after Taupo took me down, but on monday I’ll be in a camper van and I’ll be able to drive to all edges of New Zealand. Now the only thing everyone needs to worry about is if I can drive on the opposite side of the road. I forgot to ask if it was manual or automatic too....

Oh well.

Just paid my credit card and went over all my finances... and I don’t want to be depressing, but I thought I was starving myself enough. Trust me I’m grateful for the weight loss, but god daaaaaaamn you New Zealand for being so flippin’ expensive and dangling fun activities in my face like jumping out of planes that cost me my left kidney.

We only need one to survive anyways.

I did live out my rockstar fantasies my last night in Taupo. I was at an Irish bar that had “Jam Night,” which in reality, was a well rehearsed band. But I went up and asked if they new some karaoke favorites of mine, and I sang a couple of songs with them. I forgot all the words and couldn’t hear myself but the room went from being empty to having a whopping five people who sat down and watched.

Rock and Roll baby.

The Girl Who Was Terrified of Flying, Lost Her Mind and Jumped Out of One

Monday 12:06 PM. Auckland, New Zealand.

I swear this is my last day in Auckland.

I went on my free trip to Paihia and I had a lot of time on the bus to let my mind wonder and make impulsive decisions. I don't know if the oxygen is different here, or if hearing everyone talk about it, or if I had some repressed death wish that made me sky dive.... but I did it. And lucky for you, I dropped a shit ton of my hard earned cash money to document my stupid, scared face for you to laugh and point at. But also be really impressed. Because, seriously, 16,000 feet.... 

This is my "clearly this doof isn't sane enough to be making serious, life threatening choices," and "please don't make me get on that paper airplane," face.

Then there was the actual plane ride that took FOREVER. And once you think you've gone high enough, and gravity pulls your pee back to earth, you just keep going, up and up. I waved hi to the birds and the bearded lady in heaven, up past the clouds. 

This is my "Kylie, stop crying and smile for the camera," face.

There were three jumpers on the plane singing 'I wish you'd step back from that ledge my friend,' in perfect harmony. Not really, but during the hysterics in my brain, that's what I was hearing. I was the first to jump.

Sitting at the edge, this is my "I've made a serious error," face

And then, of course the "But wait! I think I left thE STOVE OOOOOooooonnnn...." face.

And the no turning back, can't breathe from the terror face.

Don't be fooled by the smiles. That was the wind blowing polluted atmosphere into my lungs with so much pressure that I couldn't exhale. What I'm actually thinking is "Fuckfuckfuckfuck! My ears are popping like a son of biiiiitch!"

People who are able to break away from the terror and pose for the camera guy are sociopaths. Still screaming:

Apparently, jumping in The Bay of Islands is the longest free fall you can have. It's 70 seconds, and people say that it's too short. LIES. It was much too long. Long enough for you to convince yourself that you're not going to survive this. But that is when they pull the chute and you finally slow down and comprehend where you actually are. And it's amazing.

This is my "I may be deaf, but I'm flying," face.

Once you start to appreciate what you've done, it's over too fast. I could fly in that parachute for forever. I don't know if it would be different if I did it a second time, but the free fall is truly horrifying. I'll pay less and go for a shorter distance.

There you have it. Thank you to Andrew who jumped with me and landed us safely. This is going to be hard to top.

And you are all welcome for those less attractive photos. 

New Zealand is the best Stairmaster I could have ever asked for.

Thursday, 7:00 PM. Auckland, New Zealand.

My hiney is looking flyyyyyyyyy.

Back in scaldy Auckland. I came back just to use the free trip to The Bay of Islands I won at that bar crawl. Except it’s not free, you still have to pay for your own accommodation and excursions. So It’s a free bus ride. Woo.

Before I came back though, I was in the wonderful Whitianga. My hostel was right on the beach. I went kayaking at eight in the morning. Who am I? Well... I’m myself, so I took a nap after. I hitched a ride to Shakespeare’s Cliff (yes, I am a hitch hiker now) and hiked all over until it pooped me out onto Cook’s beach. Walked the length of it. Magically found the road again where I tried to hitch my way to the beach, but ended up paying for the bus like a bourgie bitch.

Finally got to my final destination: Hot Water Beach. Clever people these Kiwi folk are with their names. It’s a hot spring in the sand. You bring a shovel and dig yourself a nice little hole, and chill out. Digging the hole isn’t easy, but Kiwi philosophy states that you don’t get a spa day unless you work for it. I felt pretty bad ass digging my epic hole while other chicks had their boyfriends doing it for them. And when I say “bad ass,” I mean tired and jealous.

The next day I went to Cathedral Cove which had really hot sun and really cold water. I sunned and drew and relaxed. I shouldn’t have been relaxing, because I was literally being eaten alive by bugs. I have 30+ bug bites varying in nickel and tennis ball size. God bless the ecosystem....

I went to Purangi Winery after. Danny, the cheery man who talks you through a tasting of 10 or so fruit wine/liqeur tastings, is awesome. We bonded a bit over the pathetic people who write reviews on trip advisor and yelp. Choke on your negativity and get a life, I say. I got ambitious and ordered a pitcher of their signature feijoa liqeur and cider and ate the pizza that they make there. Both delicious. I ended up taking half the pitcher togo, and gave half my pizza to my bus driver, Dave, who drove me around all day. He reminded me of Hagrid.

I was going to stop somewhere else before coming back here, but someone at my hostel was driving through Aukland and offered me a free ride. And (bonus!) ended up not being a psycho and killing me.

Now, seven of my bug bites are on my hands and I can’t take typing anymore. 

I want to start using the word "volcanic" as a synonym for "sexy"

Saturday 3:48PM. Auckland, New Zealand.

Finally made some friends. But I had to stoop to going on a hostel organized bar crawl. When I was in Europe, a lot of travelers “frowned upon” them. It’s usually a "I-just-graduated-high-school" kind of a thing. Luckily, there were a bunch of old bitter people, like me, to bond with. And I basically became famous at the first bar when I participated in a bar wide heads or tails game. Basically they flip a coin and you touch your head or your hiney and it keeps going until there’s a winner. It came down to two of us, and I was on a I-feel-like-a-psychic high. So we had to do a two out of three rock-paper-scissors match. They made me stand on a table so everyone could look up my skirt, but my newly discovered psychic abilities didn’t fail under the embarrassment. And I won that shit. Figured I get a free drink or something, but I won a tour of the Bay Islands which is the northeast coast from where I am and is probably worth almost $150. So that didn’t suck. And it gave people an excuse to talk to me. 

The next day I had to change rooms which was super fun after a night of dancing and drinking. And I promised myself I was going to do some sort of activity that day. So I went to Rangitoto Island for some hiking. If you’re asking yourself “Do all the islands and towns here sound like leveled up pokemon?”, the answer is yes.

Tip one: Bring a map ya dumb blonde. Rangitoto is a volcano. It has dirt/gravel, wide trails, and smaller trails that go through the trees which are obviously more fun and dangerous. I took the first small trail I could find to escape the children. Instead of going up though, it took me around by the water which was nice, but I wanted the more challenging hike up. Well, I found it.

Tip two: Bring more than one bottle of water because you’re definitely hungover. I started up one of the wide trails, and slowly the dirt/gravel that I thought was so easy before turned into black sand. And my sad, out of shape ass was sinking into that shite like quicksand. The sun came out and the wind stopped blowing. I tied up my sweaty shirt and exposed my Britney belly, circa 1999. I was running out of water, but I was determined.

I am happy to say that I did not make it to the top. Not because I gave up, but the last ferry leaves at 3:30 on the weekdays and I ran out of time. But I was no weakling. Depending on how accurate the iPhone mile tracker is, I hiked about nine miles. Very amazon of me, I know.

I only fell once.

And hit my head once.

I’m in a lot of pain today, but it was a great way to start St Patrick’s day. I’m in the future, so most of you reading are out celebrating now.

Don’t forget my existence, and have a pint for me.

Off to Whitianga in the morning.

Trip Numba Two

Wednesday 10:32PM. Auckland, New Zealand
 

I’ve left. I’m gone. Can’t bring me back. ‘Til I run out of money.

I have the privilege to tell you that I am watching “Sister Wives” in a Wifi-less hostel in Auckland. I had to pay for the ability to post this. I like to call situations like mine “horse shit.” I want brother husbands!! And I want the world to accept it like this dumb ass thinks the world will do when he televises it.

On more serious matters.... I don’t actually have serious matters. I’m unemployed in a far away country. This is why I do this.

I do have the dilemma of limited wifi. When hostels don’t have free wifi, it really chaps my ass. It makes me even madder when they don’t have a bar. I’ve clearly forgotten how hard it is to do this. I’ve been gone for a month, but I was with friends who I made do all the work.

So in between leaving New York and arriving to New Zealand, I’ve been to many of places, seeing a number of friends. Which has made it difficult to write. No alone time to shit talk people.

I tried to take note of the more memorable stories, but they seem insignificant now. Like, if I were to type them all out now, you’s get bored and not read for the rest of my trip. So I’ll give you the bullet point version:

• I lost my phone in a cab, got it back, almost $300 later.
• Got branded by my friend, Grainne, when she burned me with her cigar while posing for a selfie. Scar is now in shape of a “G.”
• Went skinny dipping for the first time.
• Saw a grandma, to my right, reading to her grandson on a stoop; while to my left, a homeless couple screamed “fuck you!” to each other across a park. Like Sesame Street.
• And watched an airline video show me how to buckle my seat belt in economy, and separately show first class how to buckle their more advanced and safer seat belt... Since they pay more, they get more comfort, free booze, and their lives.

It’s good to be back.

P.S. This place doesn't have Wifi, but I'm watching someone mop the floors for the third time today. PRIORITIES. 

Busted in Barcelona

Tuesday 6:37PM. Barcelona, Spain.

I gotta say, I didn't picture myself spending my last day in Barcelona with my leg propped up with some ice. But hey, when in Barcelona, one dances with such vigor that one dislocates ones knee and spends the next day recovering and drinking beer.

But I loooooove Barcelona. It reminds me of a more tropical New York. Good thing I got all the sight seeing done the day before. But this further proves to me how frickin' out of shape I've become. I'm a sad excuse of an amazon.

Although, I did dislocate it defending my own...... well the new set of Aussies I've befriended. We were out dancing at a club and she asked me to keep the boys away from her because she is spoken for. So, being the protective and prideful broad that I am, I began to kick in the direction of every guy that tried to get close. And we laughed and I was sick of the boys too and it kinda became a dance move. And then I dropped. Just had a little too much fun kicking boys. I wonder what that's about.

Anyways, I knew it was bad because the booze wasn't masking the pain. But it's all good. I'm going to Lisbon tomorrow, and my hostel has a pool. So it won't be as depressing.

What is depressing is the amount of landmarks that have been under construction throughout my travels. IT IS THE HEIGHT OF TOURIST SEASON, EUROPE. REEVALUATE YOUR PRIORITIES. How can I Instagram with cranes and scaffolding ruining everything. I mean, I already gotta deal with the tourists in the background. Throw me a bone. I'm definitely spending enough.

I know I complain a lot here. But it really is the trip of a life time.

Misery is just funnier.

Day 66: My sleep deprivation is diminishing the very little tolerance I have for children...

Saturday, 8:23AM. Marseille Train Station, France.

First and foremost, I’d like the dedicate this post to the screaming children running back and forth down the alley at 6AM this morning. Because this post wouldn’t have the bitter undertones that I like to live up to without them. Also, burn in hell tikes. Burn in hell.

I’d also like to thank all the airports, cafes, hostels, and train stations that claim to have wifi, but in actuality are too cheap to pay for the bandwidth to accommodate all the people that gather in locations such as those. Stop teasing me.

And this leads me to apologizing, once again, for a long silence. Blame the weefee and blame the Australian broad who gave me a book that was 720 pages of gripping, thought provoking, genius, heart-wrenching despair. She warned me it was sad but that it had also really touched her. So as I read, I thought, “Damn, this poor bastard must have an incredibly uplifting, happy ending to put me through 700 tear soaked pages.” No. Bad things happen to good people and everyone dies. The end.

So I’ve been to quite a few places since I last spoke to the internet. Rome, Florence, Venice, and now Marseille. Rome, for a very good reason, is way too touristy. And traveling has made me into more of an old woman than I already was. My days of long lines and people walking too slowly and snapping photos are long behind me back in the Czech Republic. So I much preferred Florence and Venice that were smaller and quieter. Except my hostel in Venice. A ten by ten room, with three beds shoved inside, with no AC is not an accommodation. But there was a pool, so at least I’m tan.

Guess which one was mine...

Marseille has to be the hottest place I’ve been. Me and some lovely people hiked all the way up to Notre Dame. Although, by the top, it looked like we had swam there. Can’t say I’m incredibly impressed by Marseille though. It’s not very pretty, and just this morning I saw a 6-7 year old with a pacifier and a grown woman doing a connect the dots.

I messed up and forgot that I wanted to go to Monaco when booking France and getting distracted by the tragedy in Nice. So I’m off to Barcelona and I’m done planning ahead. And I think I just want to live by the beach for a while. A beach where children are banned.

As if my carb withdrawal wasn’t bad enough, there is ANOTHER screaming toddler with a terrible mother in the waiting room here...... changing his poopy diaper NOT in the restroom. Jayzus.

Here’s some out of context pictures:

Two in one?! No.... But really no. The first one was old, yo.

Friday 5:15PM. Rome, Italy

When I first typed the heading ^ just there, I accidentally wrote "Roma" instead of "Rome." 

I'm sooooo cultured already.

Let me tell you a wee bit about Salerno. Very near to Naples, but doesn't make you want to immediately flee like Naples does. Took an easy bus ride to Vietri Sul Mare, where I paid eight euro for a chair and napped on the beach. I know a lot of people who wouldn't be content being still for so long on the beach, and might feel the need to... I don't know... play basketball or something. But it was perfect for me. I slept and swam, then slept some more. I knew my skin was getting too much sun, but I didn't care. It was perfect minus the constant giggles and squeals of joy coming from the children around me.

I was only there for a day, but it brought me out of the "I want to go home" dark place.

It also didn't hurt that the restaurant I went to that night kept putting decorative hearts on my plates. I became friends with my waiter, Danny and we talked about the only thing non-Americans want to talk to an American about. Trump.

I'm having a great time in Roma. But I can't shake the heebee-jeebies I get from my eccentric roommate who hasn't seemed to have left the room at all. She doesn't wear pants and makes noises for no reason. Like the kind that are forced to let you know that she is in the room. The psychologist in me could examine and break her down, but I'm on vacation. 

Now that I'm all caught up on my cities... Ciao!

Wrote this two days ago, but couldn't post because of the blasted WeeFee. So the date is a LIE.

Wednesday 9:59AM. Train to Salerno, Italy

Alright, I need to get this out while the frustration is still fresh in my mind. Because in an hour or two, I will be sleeping my cares away on the beaches of Salerno. But first I need to nerd out because this train is my first individual coach train. Like the Hogwart’s Express. Just not as cool and no dementors.

So yesterday turned into one of those days where I’m trying to not be a little bitch and cry and want to go home. To start, sleeping is just not an option in Naples. There’s construction, motorbike sounds, and thugs screaming and fighting in the streets ‘tilthe sun comes up. This one fight that happened right outside my hostel window made me question why movies add those cheesy thud sounds when someone gets punched. The sound of someones fist hitting someones else’s flesh is sickening enough. Especially when it’s echoed in an alley way and goes on for seven minutes.

The next morning, I get kicked out of my room because the cleaning crew needs their creative space to mop the floors. 

So I buy a train ticket to go to Pompeii. I find my train and double check with one of the conductors that it’s the right train. He then explains to me in Italian that I need to go downstairs to the metro for my train. But that conversation takes 10 minutes because I DON’T SPEAK ITALIAN. So it takes me 20 minutes to find the platform downstairs. Just to have that conductor tells me I need to go back upstairs to the first train I was at. But by the time I back up there, the train is gone. And I want to punch the first guy in the face. And I could have. He was still there.

The next trains were too expensive, and had too many transfers for conductors to ruin my life in Italian. So I bought a pizza and took a nap.

It sucked.

Just so you’re not too depressed for your favorite writer, I had a fab day on the island of Ischia the day before with some lovely canadians. Filled with paddle boating, cliff jumping, gelato, turning into a tomato, and almost missing the last ferry to shite Naples where I witnessed the sun completely disappearing on the sea’s horizon with no clouds messing it up.

Bring me back to Sicily

Tuesday 9:30AM. Naples, Italy.

I'm going to skip right over Naples, because I have one more day here to have it redeem itself.

Now for Palermo.

It began with me almost getting stranded at the airport. I landed in a very much abandoned airport. Not many signs translated in English. Walking around, looking like a tourist, making myself a target. Trying to find the invisible bus that is supposed to take me into Palermo. After about a half hour, I find an information booth where the woman clearly sees my ill-hidden distress and directs me to the bus that actually isn't invisible. Get to the bus, the bus driver is an ass, there are no ticket machines to buy a ticket, I'm 30 cents short in euros to buy one from the bus driver, and when I get back inside the ATM doesn't work. Oh, and there's no wifi.

So I go back to the lady at the information booth, holding back tears, because I'm trying to be a big girl traveler, and desperately ask her what to do. So first she tells me that there is another ATM upstairs that I can try. Second, she asks where in Palermo I was going, then offers to drive me there in an hour when she gets off her shift.

Now of course I have the wee instinct of "Who do you work for?! I know you're going to Taken me somewhere!" But then I feel more "Thank you mommy."

So, what ends up happening is that I use the other ATM, make the bus, and not get Taken anywhere except to my lovely hostel with the lovely Alesandra who showed me to my very comfortable, squeaky bed. But how nice of that woman to offer that to me. I hear that only happens down here in the southern parts of Italy.

And it was grand. Not as visually beautiful as the previous cities I had been to, but I felt like I was back home in Queens. Surrounded by people much smaller than me and with way better tans, cat-calling me as they rode by. Home, sweet home.

Seriously, the people down there are very small. Partly because of the inhalation of all the vespa emissions. And also because, being in the south, there's less of a chance for them to mix their love juices with those tall, Scandinavian countries.

But I had a lovely time finding my first beach to lay on. Of course, found some more fun Aussies to spend my days with. We found a piazza where all the degenerate youths dance and drink at. The drinking age I think is 16, so you can imagine the underage drinking horror. Anyways, a youth grabbed my hiney, so I turned and shoved his fat arse with my Amazonian muscles. He gave me the finger so I started going after him with my empty beer bottle in hand. The Aussies held me back, lucky for him.

But despite that one hiccup, it was so much fun.

Then I came to Naples... to be continued. 

Oh! And here's a picture of old man Pinocchio!

Buonasera Italia! Comin' in hot, Palermo!

Thursday 6:24PM. Airport, Rome.

Laaaaaawwd I love Prague. It was so hard to leave and to part ways with Vandana. But necessary for you folk. Home girl never let me stop moving enough to let me write to all you eager readers. Bless her and praise to "Rosa."

Ha. That's an inside joke between only me and her. Feel inferior.

I really thought my eye balls had reached proper eye-gasm. But Prague is the first place to make them cry..... I really didn't mean to take the metaphor that far when starting that sentence. 

For a city that is predominantly atheist, they've got the dopest church at the Castle. This is where the tears came. The stained glass was magical and made me want to steer my art in that direction even though no one asks for stained glass windows anymore.

I know the majority of you aren't art nerds, but that has to tickle you somewhere in the void where your cultural intellect should be.

Currently I'm enjoying a 6 hour layover in Rome. I've always wanted my first hours of being in Italy to be under florescent lighting, never breathing in the outside air. But I've really caught up on my internet game. Damn, it is depressing. The only thing I feel comfortable commenting on, being the daughter of a psychologist, is that you got to be some sick sociopath to want to see/share footage of a human being dying.

But I write here to distract from the sad. So, on a lighter note, I've gotten SO fat.

......

On a FAT note, I'm so sick of beer. All I could drink in Amsterdam, Berlin, and Prague was beer because liquor is so expensive. It all tastes the same and has the same amount of calories as all three meals combined. Their "light" beer is lighter in alcohol, not calories and carbs. And that's just counterproductive.

I'm ready for the vino and spaghetti! Won't help my current problem, but I don't care. Tastes amazing and there will be more of me to love.

Ciao!

Day Forty-Three. Wow.

Friday, 9:37PM. Berlin, Germany.

I had to flee Amsterdam. It was too unproductive....

Gorgeous though. I could sit in the streets and drink the amazing coffee all day just looking at the buildings and the canals. And I essentially cried over Van Goghs actual palette, clawing at the glass encasing it. 

Plus, every other shop sells some sort of delicious food. Obviously. My personal favorite was the pizza dog. It's a foot long hot dog in a baguette topped with various pizza toppings. I'd tell you how many of those I went through... but it's too shameful.

As you can see, I had no other choice but to run away.

Currently in Berlin. Which has been a blast. I haven't gotten to too many tourists spots yet. Went out to the clubs with a bunch of Aussies and a couple Swedes. The Aussies were fun and silly like they usually are. The gals from Sweden.... were nice. Nice trash bags. They did win a few points when they told me that they thought I was a really cool chick and felt the need to impress me.

They did not.

I became fairly close with the people in my room. Squad 105. Me and this girl, Vandana (pronounced like bandana but with a Vengeance), are going to Prague together on Monday.

I was told by my sestra that I need to make my posts longer and more detailed. But you and I don't have the attention span for that.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Everyone, except me, thinks it's a good idea to travel with babies.

Monday, 2:30PM. Luton Airport, England.

I’ve been at the airport for five hours, been up since yesterday, still have 2 hours before my plane leaves for Amsterdam. I missed my flight because the London trains just get cancelled all willy nilly. Had to buy a whole new flight. I’ve had Starbucks kick me out of their seating area because I didn’t have their product in front of me. This airport has no seated waiting area. I’ve had screaming/crying babies around me all day long. I’ve “slept” on the cold floor. Basically been living the life of a homeless person the past few hours.

Amazing how talking to an adorable British musician for 15 minutes can make all that pain go away...

My weekend started like any other horror film. In a car on the way to a beautiful mansion to party with a bunch of young people I didn’t know. The cab driver, who took us from the train to the manor, didn’t even miss his line: “You won’t get any cell service all the way out there....”

I did know two people... ish. Shout out to my boys John and Miles who I met my first night in London and who extended the invite to me. It was a risk for them too. I could have been the killer of this horror film.

It was an amazing weekend though. Very nice people, hot tubs, beer olympics, and steak. It was the waspiest weekend of my life. I’m glad I risked the potential of getting drugged and waking up in some weird, British swinger situation.

Here's some photos to make you jealous:

London Baby!

Friday 10:06AM. London, England.

So I desperately walked around EVERYWHERE yesterday trying to find that amazing hat Joey wears in the London episode to take a "London baby!" selfie, but came up empty. Over sixteen miles my tracker said.... "desperately" was an accurate word to use.

Currently I'm Carrie Bradshaw, typing a column in a coffee shop, asking questions about life, curly blonde hair mess and all. So just imagine SJPs voice when reading this:

"Why is Kylie so negative and bitter?"

There's this adorable kid in my room, Evan. Fresh out of high school, bright eyed bushy tailed, and wants to genuinely get to know everyone who walks by him. He asked me about my travels and Iceland specifically. And I'm honest when I say the city of Reykjavik was shite. And he says, "Wow. I love how honest you are about your travels. I went for a bike ride and told everyone what a great journey it was and how I saw so many amazing things. But the truth is that it was pouring rain, I got lost, and fell off my bike. It was a pretty miserable day."

There you go folks... stealing optimism from young souls... one country at a time.

Keeping up with the misery, I tripped THREE times in public yesterday. I'm sorry, "tripped" is not the right word. "Stumbled and fell to the ultimate hell of embarrassment" would be a better description of how useless of a human I was yesterday. Each time was the kind of fall that just never ends. Every attempt to recover just made it keep going until all hope of self worth is left on the pavement like a dead pigeon.

In between the humiliation, I saw some lovely things:

Yea, this horse was not happy to be standing still for an hour...

Glasgow Wins

Sunday 7:39PM. Portree, Isle of Skye, Scotland.

A view of the wee village.

In the contest of countries. Scotland is winning. So far.

Even when I'm so incredibly sick that I have no voice and a constant flow of snot coming out of my nose. That's a direct quote from my Tinder profile, by the way.

Wednesday in Glasgow was such a happy accident. My Australian roommate and I were desperately trying to find some live music. We heard some music coming out of the Waterloo. And it was karaoke. Gay karaoke. In other words, it was fate.

The lovely Christeen. Hostess extraordinaire.

Long story short, I sang "Alone" by Heart, got a standing O *hair flip*, and made friends with Matt, Tom, and Chris. They took us out to a drag show and a dance club where I performed the traditional prayer dances to my pop goddesses, Britney and Shakira.  

These two were the best.

Clearly loving life.

Oh, and here's my new castle. I'm still working on marrying into the family clan. The Macleods. Apparently they're a big deal.

They have pet seals.

Day Twenty-One

Wednesday 8:32AM. Bus, Ireland

I apologize for the gap in posts, but I spent the last couple of days doing absolutely nothing because the boys were out all weekend and who knows when I’d get that kind of privacy again in a non-hostel situation.

The goal was to leave Dublin on Saturday. However, Dublin post is such shite, and I was trapped waiting for my international credit card to arrive.

The best part is that when I finally got it and used it INTERNATIONALLY like you would an INTERNATIONAL credit card... they froze all my accounts. Right in the middle of my bus/ferry purchases to get the hell out of this leprechaun city. 

I’m getting a phantom headache reliving this right now.

I’d go through the details with you, but I can’t afford to lose any more hair from the stress. My mets cap would become a permanent accessory for the rest of my trip.

I’m currently on my way to Glasgow, Scotland. Won’t arrive for about ten hours. But the long trip is worth the not having to ride in another plane. Because, let’s face it, there’s no way you can convince me that SCIENCE keeps that metal bird in the sky. It’s pure wizardry. I believe there’s a tour in England to the Make Things Fly School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And where there’s a school, there’s a snake faced villain ready to break the spells of flight.

Get it? It’s a Harry Potter joke AND a Snakes On a Plane joke, kind of.

Not just a head of golden locks people!

"I know you're American..."

Tuesday 6:27PM. Dublin, Ireland.

Uuuummmm.... What?

Today I put on my pretty summer dress and went to the Hugh Lane gallery to look at arts and shtuff. Then just decided to walk around and do a wee bit of shopping for the lads I'm staying with; as a tanks for letting my snore on their couch for so long.

That last sentence was super Irish. I'll try to stop being an ass.

Anyways.

As I was walking the streets, a man stopped me to try and collect money for a charity that helps a disease I've never heard of. And his opener was: "Sorry, I know you're American, but--"

........

I'm sorry, how do you know I'm american? And why are you sorry about it? I know that's not what he meant, and I'm completely overreacting to this, but it really bothered me. And as I'm writing this, I'm realizing that he saw the American Arrogance radiating off of me. But I thought I was a pretty unassuming American! He also seemed so bogus with no pamphlet about the charity, and he tried to sell me scratch off cards.... So, I took that as, "I know you're American, so let me try to sell you something stupid."

Listen, buddy, I'm not only American. I'm a New Yorker.

Werk.

Back to the arts I saw today... Here's a couple of pictures that I wasn't allowed to take. Some amazing stained glass pieces done by a Dublin native, Harry Clarke.

And, of course, a close up of Prince in a past life:

And a few from the Cliffs of Moher on Sunday:

And I know you all saw me posing at the edge of the cliff, but this is what it looked like when I looked down.....

I get dizzy looking at the pictures even still.

You were right....

Saturday 12:03AM. Belfast, Ireland.

You all said I wasn't going to miss you and be all nostalgic once I got here and YOU WERE RIGHT. Ireland is (at the moment) the most beautiful place I've ever been. I'm current'y sitting in a hotel in Belfast, drinking a beer, not knowing what to write, because it's impossible to write what I witnessed...

Because I've had too much to drink...

BUT SERIOUSLY

I'm not kidding, I've had quite a bit of Jameson. It's okay Mom and Dad, I'm in the safety of the Clayton Hotel lobby..... bar.

I'm gonna load some pictures as I drink my Harp..... I've finally had a Harp Maria and Graine!

To die for... facking tourists on the left..

Giants Causeway

Me and freckles and flowers and Mets

Today was such an amazing day. I hate to mention how much missing people back home made me feel sad. I met these two brothers who reminded me of my relationship with my sister, Chelsea. They were besties who didn't hug; and the younger one, Steven, was making sure the older one, Peter, made it to his bus home on time. And you all know I'm my sister's (and our adoptive sister, Christina's) guardian.

And seeing all the couples on the hike today.... just made me want to push them off the cliffs.

GERONIMOOOOO!

Like I always said: Just a hop, skip, and a hair flip from taking over the world.